We'll Never Get Along, You Know
by thatkidthatfedyoutoaquig
Summary: Once upon a time, a girl drops out of college because she meets one Artemis Fowl. Upon this meeting, she finds she has to be used for bait in his schemes. And what does she do? Fall in love with him? Never. But...well, maybe... Rated mature for language and just to be safe. Artemis Fowl/OC (only because Holly and him honestly will never happen D:)
1. Preface

Preface

Where the majority of people would have been reduced to yelling at the computer or slapping the keyboard stupidly, and where Artemis, as I now know him, remained calm, I picked up the computer, and threw it out the window. Right out the window, three stories down, into the pool.

Facebook wants to bitch, I'll end that shit.

My mom comes running into my room. "WHAT HAPPENED?!"

I look at her calmly and say, "I'm gonna need a new computer. The old one was unexpectedly short lived and was carried by evil fairies out of my window and into a body of water." I smile. "I hate it when that happens."

"Aw, baby, not again!"

"Mom. I'm sorry. It's, like, a fetish I have or something. I never know when the urge is going to take me." I brush hair out of my eyes and blink my innocent eyes at her. I'm secretly evil, but not really. The evilest I am is when I use roundup on the weeds and kill mosquitoes and softly say "Die" to the puzzle pieces.

I mean, I threaten people quite often for someone so nonviolent, and have the unfortunate habit of using the expression, "I'm gonna punch a baby," but I never really do anything for fear of getting in trouble. It's all that holds me back, but that thought is pretty strong.

Also, I would like to inform you now that I hate chemistry. Because one, it sucks, and two, the computer never wanted to load my homework and I'd be sitting there for an hour. Internet goes out. Start over. Cry. Do some more homework. Internet goes out. Write an angry poem telling off your computer and all its relatives, associates, and coconuts, and then I would do some more homework. The pattern often continued late into the night and I hadn't the faintest why college professors wanted all of your homework done online when, really, I wanted to take all the electronics and scrap them for parts that I would meticulously take apart.

A note: this has not been carried out because I have nowhere near enough patience to pull that plan off, and after about an hour, I'd be reading some romance novel or graphic novel, or watching any assortment of weird movies.

I must say, I'm sort of really obsessed with the movie version of the musical _Chicago_ right now. "So I fired two warning shots- into his head." "He ran into my knife. He ran into my knife ten times."

Well, now that I've bounced around and really said nothing of importance (sexy female deer), perhaps I should continue with the story.

For you see, this is the story where I meet one Artemis Fowl.

What a bad happening that was.


	2. Chapter One

1.

I have no idea why I chose to study abroad in Ireland. Like, what a terrible idea. So, instead of being a zoology major, I quit college, formed a hipster band, and was used as bait so often it was ridiculous. Apparently, though I am knowledgeable in parts of all four core subjects (math, English, science, and math), and my talent for languages is good, and even though I can sing and play instruments, draw, write, paint, and sculpt, none of these things mean anything to a child genius. When I dance around the house to _The Phantom of the Opera_, he critiques me and shuts off the music. When I work on calculus problems, he points out the errors and explains how it really should be done. When I point out that you really shouldn't call a French waiter "garçon" because it means "boy" and can be rude, he says, "You're from America. You don't understand."

I hit him on the nose for that. I'm not athletic, but he's a pure wimp. And besides, I've taken to runs around the countryside to vent out my anger at the little bitch.

To put it frankly, I rather hate Artemis Fowl.

I step off the plane and look around the airport. I suppose it looks like any normal airport, but foreign. Definitely, always foreign. I mean, I was in Europe. There were bound to be changes.

The first thing I notice once outside, is a boy. There is always a boy. This boy is not Artemis Fowl though. This is the boy I make a band with. Me and him, him playing acoustic guitar, and me playing the mandolin, or sometimes just tambourine or something silly. One time, the triangle, and damn, I made that one note sound sexy. I play the violin a lot too, little flirty bits that add to the quality of the music.

Didn't think the violin could be flirty?

You ignoramus.

This boy was the most beautiful boy I had ever seen, and I doubted he would pay much attention to me. I have this habit of wearing truly weird clothes, or normal clothes in weird combinations, but I feel like I'm invisible. That's what made this boy different though. He walks right up to me and says, "Good mornin', welcome to Ireland," and I make some rude comment about pubs. He laughs, I smile, and we become fast friends, me mockin' Ireland, and him mocking America, where "dreams come true, just like Disneyland." I say, "Not with current presidents, they don't." He laughs some more, and sits next to me on the bus that's taking us to campus.

Apparently, we're basically the same person, except he doesn't listen to much American music and I listen to almost no Irish music. This is just an unfortunate occurrence being from separate sides of the Atlantic. However, when I play some music for him, he likes it, and I mostly like his. Even the accordion stuff, but that trance stuff that I guess is popular in Europe is just weird. So I torture him with dubstep, which really was a horrible invention, I guess unless you're Tennison or Carter and I won't explain.

However, I do get urges to drive around and look like a tool, blasting dubstep. The thing about dubstep is that it's hard to sing along to, and I love singing, so you just have to be like, "Wopwopwopwop WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOPPPPPPPPP." And that's how the music goes. There is an occasional, "I- want to kill- everybody in the world," in a robotic voice, but it's not the same as belting out Carrie Underwood, or having chill time with Asher Book. Or, "Mmm, moterboatin'" which is the best line of music everywhere.

His name is Eoin and he spelled it for me and I was like, "Bro. That's messed up."

And he cussed me out while I giggled pleasantly. Dem Europeans, mmm. So different from Americans, and I must say, after having to spend so much time over there in that awful country, I miss my red, white, and blue, and eagles and shit. AND FREEDOM. Well, I suppose that's Artemis's fault, not Ireland's. He is one annoying "young man." Perhaps worse than when he was a boy. I love torturing him with American slang. "What is, Artie," and he's glaring at me like he would cut off my head if he could. "Hey, bro!" "'Sup, dawg!" "What it do, dude!"

Hmmhmmhmmhmmhmmm.

And he says, "I never use slang," and I go all slang on him. And then I'm always saying I rack up the bitches or something like I something bitch something Bitches like that something and he hates me. Like the time I said, "I gave that bitch some red Armani boxer shots. Bitches love red Armani boxer shorts." He was so angry because he has a bunch of those. I wear them sometimes and he gets even more upset. As of a man of twenty-three, he sure acts as young as me. I mean, I'm eighteen and all, but half the time I act like a five-year-old.

Anyway.

So Eoin and I get to the campus and I fall in love with it. Ireland is absolutely beautiful. I could have lived there forever if I hadn't moved to Fowl manor. The only problem is I find out about Eoin playing in pubs and he hears me sing and school no longer feels important. I was majoring in Zoology and minoring in Creative Writing, and they both felt like important parts of my life, but I wanted to sing, and what was so wrong about that? I wanted my music to inspire someone, even if the lyrics weren't necessarily inspiring. I wanted to change someone, let them see their dreams.

I was a fool.

There are too many demons in this world for innocent little dreamers like me. The angels don't seem to want to interfere with natural order, and so demons just live in their own evil worlds, wreaking havoc on us mere mortals.

Well, except for Holly and Foaly, and Foaly's wife, whatever her name is. I don't really care about her. I like Foaly too much to care about her. And Artemis and Holly really were a perfect couple. But sometimes I dreamed of myself kissing Artemis, and then I woke up drenched in sweat and had to go swallow whole tablespoons of bitter vinegar to punish my dream self. Maybe she would eventually get the idea and quit the nightmares.

Because this is a love story about Eoin and I, a sickeningly sweet love story that made me so bored at times. But wasn't love about sacrifice? And if I had to sacrifice all my passion and temper for a boy who did anything I asked, who kissed me so tenderly, who listened to me without interrupting me without any snarky comments, then what was I losing?

And he was a musician, and a very good, Irish one at that. What wasn't to love about my life?

Everything.

But, here. Why don't I actually get along with the story now, instead of skipping around like a bloody lunatic?

Here follows several chapters about my life in Ireland, my years as bait, my years in misery, mixed with those flashes of exciting adventures.

The day when I met Artemis Fowl II.

The day that changed everything.

**Sorry that everything that happens is so spazzy...I kinda got lost every time I sat down to type...**


	3. Chapter Two

2.

So Eoin and I were pursuing our music careers. We were in the process of releasing an EP, and we had several steady gigs by this point. I had quit uni, and I was a little sad about it, but I really hadn't been quite ready for college yet and I was liking my break, and I was working, so it wasn't like I was thrown penniless and destitute into the streets.

It was one night at a pub, when he showed up, though why he did show up, I still don't know why for the whole world, considering his personality, that he did.

Eoin's and my favorite to perform is covers of Lady Antebellum, and we are in the middle of "Can't Take My Eyes Off You," and I'm singing all sweetly while he accompanies me, and then we go into an old jazz tune, one I taught him to play on the piano, "When Sunny Gets Blue," and that's all soulful and jazzy and junk, and then I look up to see a queer figure in the crowd, a young man in designer clothing, slicked back black hair, awful blue eyes, and some premature wrinkling that possibly should not have happened. He's rather skinny and weak looking and is accompanied by a monster of a man and a shimmer of air next to him, that in my mind, is a fairy, no doubt. Elf, whatever. Some creature that is mythical.

He's staring at the two of us, intrigued one second, and then completely detached, one who looks like he's bored out of his mind.

So, I think I'll pause here and describe myself and Eoin, as I see I have failed to do so far. I really am too scatterbrained to be a well-renowned author, though that's not really what I was going for. I'm more here just to complain about my life to someone who doesn't know me and won't yell at me to shut up so often. I can't hear you, reader. You're too far away from me to care.

Eoin has coloring like Artemis, but that's where the resemblance stops. Eoin is slender, yes, but not weak. No. He has definitely built up some nice muscle in his sculpted (but not grotesquely sculpted) body. His hair is shiny and black and messy, stylishly so (really, he's quite a girl), and it's a bit wavy and a bit straight and overall sexy. His skin is so perfect I want to weep that mine isn't like that. His eyes are deep blue, so open and friendly, and everything about him screams prince.

But, like I said, he's sweet. Too sweet for my tastes, and I feel like if I'm too loud or crazy (angry or happy) he won't be able to handle me. He can take some mild teasing, but I'm more for being straight up mean and reminding the world about how idiotic they are.

This is probably the reason I hate Artemis, as he does all this, but without any emotion, and it grinds on the threads of mind SO FRICKIN' HARD.

I am not utterly boring, but I am also not stunningly beautiful. I consider myself more pretty or cute, and sometimes, when I'm being vain, I think of myself as rather sexy. But everyone likes to believe that about themselves. Except apparently for people in the old days because if they're plain, they certainly dwell on that fact (COUGHCOUGHDAMNJANEEYRECOUGHC OUGH). But I have dark brown hair, streaked naturally with every color lighter until a sort of golden blond that appears in my hair sometimes. It's awesome that some people go to the salon to achieve this very look that I already possess naturally. My hair is wild woman hair, as I like to call it, as it cannot be tamed, ever, even with a curler or straightener, and only when it is entirely wet is it smooth. My eyes are charmingly blue/green/gray, some weird color that Crayola® has not invented. But my nose is a little too big, and I think my boobs are too big for my small frame, but whatever. So I'm cute and junk. And I rather like it.

So there you have that.

I also appear to not even have mentioned my name, like the ditz I am. For the record, it's Gabrielle, and just to be annoying, people call me Gabriel. Honestly, I'm not _that_ much of a boy. I just don't notice your new haircut or hair color until three weeks later and I like camping (although peeing in the woods is really no fun at all if you're a girl) and I, well, actually, I don't play videogames, but I like them. I'm just too dreadful for words. I don't wear makeup even though I could and I tease the people I like instead of normal flirting. That doesn't mean I'm a guy, it just-

GO MAKE ME A SAMMICH, DAMMIT.

And think what you want about me while you're at it, you horrid little beasts.

**That's a lot shorter than I thought it would be. Ah, well. It happens.**


End file.
